Baseball fever,catch it

It's all about baseball.


I never played organized baseball. I wasn't talented. I didn't work at it either.

That did not keep me from having a love affair with America's game.

We were fortunate enough to live in a city (Lafayette, Indiana) where a tournament was played.

August in Lafayette means the Colt World Series takes center stage for about two weeks.
Teams from around the country and world come to play for PONY League's title for 15 and 16 year olds.

The Bonty family started attending the series when it came to town in 1968.

Dad would come home from work, change clothes and it was off to Loeb Stadium for two games.

We always sat in the rows behind home plate. I thought it was because Dad didn't want Mike and I to get hit by a foul ball.

We found out that wasn't the reason the next year.

We were positioned in the stands right behind home plate. The pitcher made a great pitch.

The home plate umpire called it a ball.

"Come on ump," Dad yelled. "It was a strike. You'd better clean the plate off so you can see."

The ump reaches in his back pocket of his slacks, pulls out his brush. He cleans the plate.

At that point I am stunned. The umpire, knowing where and who bellowed out, turns and asked if that is better.

To my surprise, Dad tells him yes.

It all gets a chuckle out of the crowd.

My Dad played a little baseball in grade school.

It was tough to play sports because Dad needed to work to help the family out.

It didn't sour him on sports. He still found time to play catch with Mike and I when he could.

Mom even got out and tossed the ball around.

It was a game of catch in the back yard that caused Mike and I to think about running away one time.

We were tossing a sponge ball.

Mike gave me a grounder to my right. I snagged the ball and threw.

The ball sails over Mike's mitt and into and breaking the window to Mom and Dad's bedroom.

I can still hear that glass breaking today. Oh what a sick sound that was to us.

Mom comes out and we explain.

We have to wait for Dad to come home. That way we can go to the glass company and get it fixed.

Mike and I decided to sit in the front yard.

I really thought I was a goner. Mike told me not to worry. He said it was his fault.

I do believe we were both crying.

At 6-feet, 3 inches and a 13-inch shoe size, Dad posed a tough looking figure. We thought this was serious enough to get a spanking.

Instead, Dad said get in the truck and lets get this fixed.

I guess he knew accidents do happen. We were not trying to break the window.

For sure, I knew I needed to square up my shoulders the next time I made a play like that.

Paying attention to the little things in the game is important.

I learned how much when I was trying out for a team one spring.

During a practice, I was on the sidelines watching. Some other guys were playing catch. The ball got away. They yelled heads up. That means to duck. Instead I turned and the ball smashed into my nose and mouth straight on. OUCH!

Rule No. 1, pay attention.

I wound up going home and taking a hot shower.

The nose wasn't broke and the teeth were fine.

You cannot beat fun at the old ballpark.